Halloween 2026: September 3rd

 

Primate (2025)

Having now inspired two separate horror movies, it looks like Travis is going to be the most influential non-human anthropoid of the 21st century. Sorry, Harambe. I apologize for being glib. The story of Sandra Herold, her chimpanzee “son,” and the friend of the family he left brutally deformed was a senseless tragedy all around. Unfortunately, it was also too fascinating and bizarre a tale not to demand our attention. A deeply mentally ill woman using an innocent wild animal as a surrogate for her lost loved ones, mistreating him when she thought she was loving him, the novelty of our almost but not quite human cousin living in such proximity to people: It all says a lot about human psychology, animal well-being, and the responsibility we have and most certainly do not have towards the natural world. Sadly, the moral far many more people took away from this incident is that a chimpanzee can and will totally fuck your shit up. The pendulum has perhaps swung too far in the other direction, from the public perceiving chimps as adorable pranksters to vicious murder machines. Surely not helping matters are motion pictures like “Primate,” literally turning an endangered species into a horror movie villain. While the animal lover in me has mixed feelings about this, the trash movie enthusiast cannot resist the allure of such ape-shit shenanigans. Be prepared for more puns like that through this review, something I'm definitely not going to apologize for. 

College student Lucy returns home to Hawaii with her best friend, Kate, and an additional guest, Hannah. They arrive at the scenic home of Lucy's parents, with its cliff-side swimming pool and large outdoor enclosure. Waiting for them are several family members: Kate's brother and Lucy's long time crush, Lucy's deaf-mute father who is also a famous novelist, her little sister Erin, and Ben. Ben is a chimpanzee, who has grown up with the girls. Lucy's late mother was a linguistics scientist and taught Ben to communicate a little, through sign language and a tablet with a press-button soundboard. The dad goes off to a book signing, leaving the kids and the ape alone. Unbeknownst to anyone, a rabid mongoose got into Ben's pin and bit him. The girls and Nick begin to have a party, even inviting some other guys over, but soon notice that Ben is acting strangely. After tearing a visiting veterinarian's face off, Ben begins to violently attack the people who considered him family. Soon, Lucy, Erin, and the others must defend themselves against a homicidal animal that is intelligent, extremely strong, and armed with a mouth full of pointed teeth and opposable thumbs. 

Likely the reason chimpanzee attacks on humans have gained so much notoriety in the last decade is because of their viciousness. Denser muscles and "fast twitch" fibers give chimps a brutal grip strength, meaning they can rip through flesh and crush bone with ease. When combined with their tendency to go for vulnerable areas like the fingers, faces, and genitals, the idea of a random chimp event has truly become the stuff of nightmares for many. This is something "Primate" exploits repeatedly. In the opening sequence, we see Ben yank someone into his cage, a standard horror movie opening... But the film goes the extra mile and then shows the ape tearing Rob Delaney's face off, all before the opening credits. Later, we see Ben bite a chunk out of someone's thigh, bash heads in, rip a jaw off, scalp a girl with his bare hands, and snap a finger like a Kitkat. The make-up artists, effects team, and sound designers truly earned their pay on this one. Each attack is wince-inducing and horrifying. The film seems to delight in the meatiness of the human body and how those multiple layers of skin, muscle, fat, and nerves can be twisted and torn. It has truly been a while since a mainstream horror movie made me groan this much.

“Primate” is directed by Johannes Roberts, whose “47 Meters Down” films gave him experience with stories of young women trapped in an isolated location with a blood-thirsty animal. “Primate” is a little less contrived than that one. Ben's rabies stems from a mongoose, with the clarification that Hawaii is a rabies free state but no explanation for where the infected mongoose came from! Mostly, the contrivances in the script here allow for the suspense to go up. The heroes isolated in the pool as they attempt to get around the insane monkey stalking the area produces a few moments of nicely drawn out tension. The best example occurs when Lucy is hiding in a closest, only a door and a layer of transparent plastic separating her from the agitated ape. Considering chimpanzees are naturally unpredictable creatures, Ben made all the more-so by his altered mental state and the audience's general uncertainty of what the animal is even seeing at any point. It's a sequence that builds nicely and ends with a suitably intense shock of the hairy beast smashing right through a glass window. Since the film establishes so early how dangerous this animal is, we are well aware of the stakes at play here. Combined with tight editing and frenzied cinematography, “Primate” frequently makes for a tense thrill ride. 

Roberts has cited "Cujo" as an influence and it's easy to see the connection there. Both films, after all, are about vulnerable characters trapped in a tight location by a rabid animal. While Roberts successfully emulates the intensity of Lewis Teague's classic, perhaps he should've studied that film a little harder in other regards. Ben the Chimp is a delightfully devious villain. He seems to taunt the girls as they float in the pool, by tapping the "Dead" button over and over again on his speech tablet. After an unsuccessful attempt to push the bananas bonobo off a cliff goes horribly wrong, Ben rises back up with victorious glee. He plays like a child with the dismembered parts of his victims. Probably the moment that most characterizes the ape as a convincing sociopath is when he reveals that he has the fob to unlock a car. All of that aligns with what the film is going for. Ben is brought to life through a clever combination of an actor in a detailed animatronic suit and CGI, which looks real enough to pass the sniff test but with enough uncanniness to add to the creature's fright factor. However, part of what made "Cujo" not just scary but effective was the equal anxiety and sympathy the film had for its titular terror. Cujo was a killer and a threat but he was also just a dog, sick and dying and not knowingly acting with any malice. "Primate" probably would've been a stronger movie if it offered the same agency to Ben, playing him not as evil but rather as a thinking, feeling creature driven by sickness and instinct to behave in this manner. 

Perhaps I'm the one making a mistake by expecting that level of depth from a movie like "Primate." It's a minor miracle that the film pulls off the level of suspense and shotgun-level jolts that it does. The core players are quickly introduced in the first act. There's some uneasiness between Lucy and Erin, the younger sister resenting the older for leaving home. Hannah seems to have invited herself on this vacation, causing some annoyance. Obviously, there's unspoken sexual tension between Lucy and her crush. I don't know why I bring any of this up because it is not important at all. Once the (ape)shit hits the fan, the meat bags in "Primate" become basically indistinguishable from each other. Any nuance the characters might have had totally vanishes as the heroines focus entirely on outsmarting the simian stalker and tending to the wounded. This is probably for the better. I hate it when horror movies insert petty drama between the cast in a survival situation. "Primate" runs a tight 89 minutes and it stays focused on the goal of maximum thrills and grimaces throughout, any unnecessary bickering cut out. Still, I would've liked to have been able to tell the girls apart by more than just their hair colors. By the time some drunken frat boys show up, it's clear that "Primate" is basically a slasher movie, as much about gory showmanship as anything else. 

And I love a good slasher movie, probably more than is considered healthy. The only performer in the film going for much nuance is Troy Kotsur as Lucy's father. He shows the impressive subtlety of expression and thoughtfulness that won him an Oscar for "CODA." This does not stop the movie from playing his disability for easy thrills though, the deaf man unaware of the horror just behind him. Which probably speaks to the limited variety of roles available to actors with disabilities. The Academy Award winner also punches a chimpanzee in the face not once but twice. Who am I to turn my nose up at such a blessing? Yes, "Primate" is undeniably junk food but it is such delicious junk food. I have too much respect for the technicians and artists at work here who made me gasp, groan, hoot, and scoot towards the edge of my seat multiple times throughout the film. Perhaps that speaks to the simian nature of all our brains. This monkey see that monkey do homicide and it makes him clap for more. This is, as far as research shows, the first of Johannes Roberts' movies to open in January but is so perfectly indicative of the simple pleasures of the "January horror movie" that I can't imagine it'll be the last. "Primate" is prime pulp and I loved it, flaws and all. [8/10]

The House on Straw Hill (1976)

Udo Kier was, to put it plainly, like no other. He was a performer gifted with huge reflective eyes that could glow with rage or lust or madness. He had an outrageous accent and an on-screen persona just as flamboyant. His unforgettable and extremely European screen presence led to repeated appearances in films by respected auteurs like Fassbinder, Wenders, von Trier, Herzog, Van Sant and Maddin. It also meant Kier – who passed away last November and worked right up until the end of his life – was in a lot of trash. Often, he was the most memorable thing about said trash. This is technically not the case with 1976's "The House on Straw Hill," alternatively known as "Trauma" or "Exposé." The film is most notable as a Video Nasty, one of the 72 titles banned in England during the eighties VHS boom after being declared a threat to moral decency. Much to the chagrin of Mary Whitehouse, I'm sure, "Straw Hill" was one of the few home-grown video nasties, exploitation filth made right there in England. While its "deemed obscene by the government" status has guaranteed this otherwise not-that-notable film a permanent place of notoriety in horror history, I'm watching it in remembrance of Kier's unhinged talent. 

Paul Martin is having trouble finishing the follow-up to his best selling debut novel. He is having frequent nightmares of blood and death. This leads to a break-up with his girlfriend Suzanne. Hoping to refocus on his work, he rents an isolated cottage out in the British countryside. By chance, he saves a woman named Linda from some local yokels. She is a stenographer and agrees to work as Paul's secretary, typing up his new novel as he dictates it. Sexual tension simmers between Paul and the unreceptive Linda. The hicks return to rape her in the field outside the home, resulting in her killing them both with a shotgun. The cottage's caretaker vanishes. Suzanne reappears and Linda seduces her. Paul's nightmares and visions intensify. Someone cuts the brakes on his car. Clearly, secrets and ulterior motives are afoot in the house on straw hill. 

"Straw Hill" was directed by James Kenelm Clarke. Mostly a composer and documentarian early in his career, he switched gears when he co-founded Norfolk International Pictures. It is for this company that he would make films with classy titles like "Let's Get Laid," "Hardcore," and "Sweet Virgin." Several of those flicks and this one co-star Fiona Richmond, billed as "Britain no. 1 sex symbol" on the posters. All of which is to say that "House on Straw Hill" is an irrepressibly horny motion picture, blurring the line between exploitation and softcore porn. Richmond is naked within the first five minutes. She spends most of the movie humping or getting humped and also gives Udo a blowie seemingly through his pants at one point. Linda Hayden's character is compelled to masturbate no less than four times throughout the film. Unsurprisingly, the sexual assault sequence is filmed more for titillation than terror. "Lesbian sex" and "anal rape" are among the film's keywords on IMDb. 

Whether the film succeeds as smut is a matter of opinion. Richmond and Hayden are nice to look at. Their girl-on-girl scene has a certain sweaty, sleazy heat to it and is probably the closest the movie comes to genuine eroticism. So I suppose "House on Straw Hill" will give interested wankers what they are after. Whether it functions well as a horror movie is more debatable. Udo's visions of a dead body in a bathtub, breaking glass and a bloody hand falling to the side, reoccur enough that they start to grow tedious. There are two sequences of people being knifed. One is a darkened stalking that ends with a slashed throat and the other is a "Psycho" inspired shower stabbing that ups the flesh and blood. Both would make passable moments in a mid-tier giallo. The montage of Udo's car careening out of control, intercut with the above mentioned lesbian tryst, is mildly well done. The free mixing of sex and a malevolent atmosphere does create a somewhat charming sense of sleaziness.

Mostly, this is a pretty dumb movie where not much actually happens. A key moment depends on a presumed slain character returning to life, a clear result of the filmmakers writing themselves into a corner. The runtime is largely a mix of skin scenes, bloody nightmares, the occasional murder, ominous foreshadowing, and Udo dictating his novel to Linda. Watching Kier ramble out tawdry prose while he grows ever-more wide-eyed certainly has entertainment value. The main joy present in "The House on Straw Hill" is watching Udo go crazy. He gives his character some intriguing quirks, like always wearing latex gloves when making love. Unfortunately, somebody made the unfathomable decision to dub over Kier's voice, denying us the chance to hear his insane German accent deliver such florid lines. I probably would have bumped this one up half a star if they simply kept the original audio.

Really, there's only one deeper idea in "The House On Straw Hill" that holds any sway at all. The script finally reveals what the plot is up to in the final scene. This is preambled by a moment where Martin is dictating the end of his novel to Linda, who begins to change every single word and line that he makes up. It's another tensely edited scene, showing that the people who made this movie actually did have some grasp on suspense and pacing. Furthermore, it raises an interesting question about true authorial intent. Every bestselling writer has an editor. How many eyeballs does a manuscript pass before on the way to being published? How many fingerprints are left on a finished book? The question of what degree a story actually belongs to someone – and who deserves credit for the telling – when so much collaboration is necessary in every field is an intriguing one. "Straw Hill" goes right back to being dumb, sleazy schlock right after that. Perhaps a presentation a little more focused on the push-and-pull within the creative process than buttocks and bewbs could have explored this idea more.

The "House on Straw Hill" title is clearly meant to recall both "Straw Dogs" and "Last House on the Left." There's some comparison there, what with the sexual violence occurring out in the scenic countryside and being bloody avenged. The image of Kier wearing a silk shirt while brandishing a shotgun made a few of the posters and obviously invokes Sam Peckinpah's controversial classic. At least this title accurately describes the film, as that house is indeed located on Straw Hill. "Trauma" is too vague to have a specific importance to this story. "Exposé" makes it sound more like a movie about journalism, though I guess plenty of things are exposed here. All of these details mark this as the film as the cheap, greasy rip-off it is. This is one of those movies that is probably objectively bad but whose stupid sleazeball atmosphere I unfortunately am somewhat charmed by. I bet this would play a lot better in a 42nd Street grindhouse than all digitally restored at home. R.I.P. Udo, overacting and groping some beautiful breasts is surely how you would want to be remembered. [6/10]

 

Wednesday: Woe is the Loneliest Number

Unburdened by having to set up the premise of the show, the second episode of “Wednesday” is slightly better than the first. But only slightly. This one leans into the “Harry Potter” influence much more blatantly. Christina Ricci teaches a class suspiciously similar to herbology, Wednesday's Gorgonian love interest generates a ghostly spider for her, while the second half of the episode basically revolves around the goth Tri-Wizard Cup. Otherwise, the plot continues to function in usual streaming television fashion. We've got half-a-dozen story threads, plates for the show to keep spinning in the air. The monster that seemingly killed Wednesday's attacker last time is nowhere to be seen. Neither is the kid's body, as he reappears. This might be the work of some sort of cover-up, the town sheriff remains suspicious, and his son remains obviously flirty with the title character. We get some more development on Wednesday's powers, the idea that there's some kind of prophecy around her arrival at the school, and her following in the footsteps of her mother despite her stated desire not to do so. Romantic entanglements and rivalries are also starting to form. I'm struggling to care about any of it. 

On one hand, there's a moment or two in “Woe Is the Loneliest Number” where I'm reminded that Tim Burton used to be a decent director. The practical sets and production design on display here are actually quite good. Gwendolyn Christie has a giant fire place shaped like a Medusa face with a gaping mouth in her office, which is cool. Sadly, every semi-compelling visual is bordered by some a moment full of badly composed CGI. This is most apparent during the boat race finale, which is unforgivably hideous in spots. Add to that the Netflix-mandated need to keep as much of the action in the center of the screen at all times, to make distribution into social media friendly clips easier, and you've got an hour of TV that feels like beige wallpaper. The term “slop” is overused by, truly, what else to do you call this kind of approach? 

On the other hand, this episode is slightly more tolerable than the debut. There are more nods to the original sixties sitcom here. Thing has a bigger role here and I like the clarification that he communicates via sign language. (Despite that being less funny than everyone in the family just instantly understanding him.) Wednesday has a stated preference for spiders and venomous insects as pets. Some plot reason I've already forgotten has her making friends with the nerdy kid who runs the beekeeping club, which is actually kind of cute. Wednesday has also inherited her mother's knowledge of carnivorous plants. Suggesting a series much truer in tone to that original show was possible, Jenna Ortega continues to excel at delivering absurdly morbid one-liners. I will also admit that Emma Myers as the upbeat, werewolf room mate is fairly adorable. Making Wednesday the Felix to a sunny, energetic Oscar is, again, hack shit but at least the cast compliment each other. The second half of the episode also features its female cast members wearing cat ears and skin-tight body suits, the kind of blatant fetishism I expect from anime but not big budget live action streaming nonsense. I guess Burton still had some of that “Batman Returns” kinkiness in his system after all. This is still aggressively mediocre television though. [5/10]

 

 

Alfred Hitchcock Presents: Incident in a Small Jail

Once again, it's time for me to marvel at how “Alfred Hitchcock Presents” put extremely bleak, perverse stories on late fifties/early sixties American television and got away with it by having a portly, sardonic Englishman make corny jokes before and after them. Traveling salesman Leon Gorwald, while stopping over in a small town, jaywalks across a street. The deputy sheriff notices him and prepares to fine him. Leon tries to bribe his way out of a ticket, a stunt that pisses the cop off and gets Leon thrown into one of two jail cells back at the station. The actual sheriff and his deputy arrives shortly afterwards with grim news: A girl was found mutilated with a knife the other night and they're pretty sure they caught the guy who did it, some scumbag in a mechanic's overalls. As news travels around town about the death of the girl, a lynch mob begins to come together at the local bar. The three cops do what they can to maintain law and order but things soon get out of hand. And Leon Gorwald, some average guy in the wrong place at the wrong time, gets caught up in it. Or that's what seems to be happening at first. 

“Incident in a Small Jail” is another Henry Slesar penned episode, who also wrote the earlier highly regarded “Hitchcock Presents” installment, “The Right Kind of House.” Both these episode are utterly economic in their setting and story. They have limited settings and a small cast of characters, like a one-act play. Both stories introduces a situation that builds steadily but carefully in tension. At first “Incident in a Small Jail” feels like a brilliant encapsulation of a chain reaction. Leon Gorwald casually makes the decision to skip across a street, the butterfly flapping its wings that leads to the tidal wave of him being thrust into the center of an angry mob. The way each new complication is added to the scenario – the unrefined punk tossed into the cell next to him, some drunkards down the street deciding to go vigilante, one small cry for help at the exact wrong time – feels like a perfectly executed web of little bad moments adding up to ruin someone's life. From this perspective, the moral of “Incident in a Small Jail” seems to be “one minor misdeed can have ghastly consequences.” 

This theme, that we are all at the mercy of a chaotic and random universe, is already a fairly black pill to swallow. However, “Incident in a Small Jail” has an even bleaker idea up its sleeve. The episode is brilliantly cast. Myron Healey as the deputy sheriff is the exact kind of hard-ass you would expect to insist on following every minor law, instantly making you dislike him. John Fiedler plays Leon. As always, he's short and non-threatening in his avuncular baldness but that whiny and stammering voice, so perfect for Piglet, also makes him a little untrustworthy. He did try and bribe a cop after all. Should we trust this guy? Once future tough guy Richard Jaeckel appears as the killer, however, you are on the guy's side despite his weaselly quality. The stranger's violent acts are perfectly set-up by Crahan Denton as the sheriff. His weary delivery of the girl's mutilated body being worst than anything he saw in the war is fantastic. 

All of this grim, tightly-wound tension proceeds what seems like an unexpected happy ending... Before “Incident in a Small Jail” drops a pitch black twist, like a knife in the back. The final image of the episode must be one of the most chilling in all of the black-and-white era of American television. In other words, this friggin' rocks. Every time I watch “Alfred Hitchcock Presents,” I find myself stunned to discover that, oh my god, television can actually be good. Why aren't all shows, to this day, tightly paced thirty minute packages of caustic noir goodness? [9/10]

Halloween 2025: September 27th

 

Shadow of a Doubt (1943)
 

If you are a properly well-read film fan, it's a question you have an answer to. What is your favorite Hitchcock? For me, it's “Rear Window,” which I'm of the belief might be a perfect film. While a hundred different critics and scholars and cinephiles are likely to give you a different answer each time, there's one person that you probably wouldn't think to ask. Namely, because he's dead but if he was alive: What was Alfred Hitchcock's favorite film out of all his work? Luckily, people did think to ask the man that during his lifetime. While he would occasionally waffle, usually Hitch said that 1943's “Shadow of a Doubt” was his personal favorite. Perhaps not as influential as “Psycho” or “The Birds” – outside of a Chan-Woo Park homage or a remake or two – it is nevertheless recognized as a masterpiece by this most lauded of directors. 

In the sunny, idyllic town of Santa Rosa, California lives the Newton family. Among Joseph and Emma's three kids, is the teenage Charlotte. She is so-named for Emma's brother, whom she refers to as Uncle Charlie. The same uncle arrives unexpectedly at the family's home. He brings many gifts with him, including an emerald ring for his niece. Shortly afterwards, two mysterious men appear at the home, claiming they are there to document the average American family. They seem very interested in Uncle Charlie, however, and Charlotte correctly deduces that they are detectives. The young girl soon arrives at another conclusion: That her uncle is a notorious serial killer known as the Merry Widow Murderer, who have left a trail of strangled old ladies across the country. Uncle Charlie realizes quickly that his niece has discovered his secret, a tense game of wits unfolding between them. 

When we are first introduced to the Newton family and the town of Santa Rosa, they both seem so delightful as to be out of a classic sitcom. Dad is easy-going, Emma is a devoted stay-at-home mom, Middle child Ann is a perfectly precocious young know-it-all while tiny Roger is a typically adorable little boy. Young Charlie emerges as the purest figure in the home, a bright-eyed young woman whose endless optimism and light-hearted wit is irrepressible. Teresa Wright is so charming and effortless in the role that you completely buy into this idea as well. However, like all innocent ages, it will come to an end. “Shadow of a Doubt” is about a girl realizing that the world can be a dark and deceptive place. Moreover, it's a film about how the people we trust and love the most can be the ones with the most unsettling secrets. A quiet tension emerges throughout “Shadow of a Doubt,” always backing away at the last minute from outright saying if Uncle Charlie is a remorseless serial killer or not. As more evidence seems to pile up, there is some degree of doubt. Surely, the young girl is trying to rationalize, her Uncle Charlie can't be a killer? We have clear answers before the end but the presence of the suggestion, the creditable idea that your personal hero could be a monster, is enough to cast a shadow over the young girl's life. 

The apparent ambiguity in Uncle Charlie's guilt is not ambiguous at all. He's introduced fleeing from detectives. He cuts out the article about the crimes from the family newspaper. He rants about how old widows disgusts him, his hands curling into strangulating claws as he does. After someone else is seemingly identified as the killer, it still does nothing to block the obvious truth: Uncle Charlie is the Merry Widow Murderer. Despite that, young Charlotte cares about him. She wants it to not be true. Perhaps the viewer becomes so invested in the young girl's journey that we want it to be true as well. Or, perhaps, maybe Joseph Cotten is so charming in the role that we like the guy too much to want him to be the killer. Either way, the lingering close-ups on Wright's eyes as she is no longer able to deny the truth is quietly heartbreaking.

All throughout his career, Hitchcock returned to the idea of a likable monster. He delighted in making the audience sympathize with definitely or potentially homicidal mad men. Sometimes via misdirection, as with the apparent Jack the Ripper in “The Lodger.” Sometimes it was by making them pathetic victims of their own psychosis, as with Norman Bates. Sometimes it was because they were simply the most interesting character in the movie, as with “Rope” and “Frenzy.” “Shadow of a Doubt” aligns the audience's perspective with Wright's heroine, which means the viewer finds her uncle as charming as she does. The slow reveal that Charlie is a strangler, with some extremely Freudian hang-ups about the women he targets, makes him another in the Hitchcockian line of charismatic killer perverts. 

Maybe this was Hitchcock working through his own guilt over his shitty behavior towards women. Maybe it was a way to address the latent queerness in many of his films, forcing viewers to think about whether societal outsiders were true “monsters” simply because of the impulses they felt. “Shadow of a Doubt” is not that gay of a movie. Which isn't to say there aren't some perverse sexual desires hiding within. As I've said, the Charlies are close. Maybe closer than a niece and uncle usually are. When the handsome police detective played by Macdonald Carey starts to court Charlie, her uncle perceives it as a threat. Ostensibly because he doesn't want to be caught by the cops. However, the idea that he sees the detective as a romantic rival for his pretty young niece is unavoidable. The camera repeatedly focuses on Uncle Charlie's hands, often as they grasp and squeeze as if choking invisible necks. That his targets are elderly women he seems disgusted with, while exalting his young and virginal niece, feels like the man has some clear Madonna/Whore hang-ups. Which makes his murders, much like Norman Bates' two decades later, a symbolic release of his sexual desires. 

The suspense in “Shadow of a Doubt” largely comes from the question of whether Uncle Charlie will try and murder his beloved niece for knowing the truth. And if sex is death and vice versa for this man, what does that mean for his feelings towards his niece? In the climatic moments of the film, when Uncle Charlie attacks Charlotte, it plays out in the enclosed space of a train car alcove. He pins the girl into a corner. She is panicked, terrified. Repeatedly, the camera draws attention to the man's hands and the closeness of their bodies. In other words, it is a symbolic attempted rape. This sees Hitchcock taking the chemistry between Cotten and Wright, which seems chummier than familial love, and making it into a source of tension. Is Uncle Charlie going to kill his niece? Is she in love with her uncle? And, Jesus, which of those conclusions are worst? 

“Shadow of a Doubt” would be co-written with Thornton Wilder, the lauded playwright whose work often reflected an interest in the contradictions of small town American life. The story itself identifies the Newton family as the average, ideal American nuclear unit. The kids certainly are utterly adorable. The town itself seems calm, peaceful, and content. Despite that, this is the place where a serial killer is hiding. He is, in fact, hiding within that seemingly normal family. With the implied threat of incest – that most common of crimes, of betrayals, of abuses, within the outwardly normal seeming American household – always floating under the surface, that makes “Shadow of a Doubt” an examination of that darkness under the veneer of suburbia. (Or what would become suburbia anyway, as this is not exactly a post-war movie.) Once you start to realize that, the other cracks in the foundation show. The father and his weird friend's creepy fascination with true crime, the weirdness in some of the family interactions. Hitchcock, an Englishman of course, seems to have mostly warm feelings towards the American way of life here. However, the film makes it clear that these prosaic, happy locations are where acts of evil can happen as much as anywhere else. 

That same thematic thread is evident in Joseph Valentine's cinematography, as classical an example of film noir visuals as you're likely to find anywhere. The early scenes, before Charlotte begins to suspect the truth about her uncle, are more brightly lit. The small town setting is bright and warm at first. However, as the story grows darker, so does the look of the film. The sequence where Charlotte arrives in a library, to look at the complete paper containing the story on the strangler, makes it clear that the girl has passed into a more shadowy world by this point. This role of shadows is evident throughout. The symmetrical interiors of the suburban home, peering up and around staircases with slanting angles, are often enhanced with jutting, growing shadows. More than once, Charlie is surrounded by lingering darkness, hinting at his true nature. The bars of stairways or windows become metaphorical prison bars, showing the young heroine trapped in a once familiar and now alien home with a man she can no longer trust. 

Those who contend that there is any sort of meaningful barrier between the horror genre and the so-called “psychological thriller” might argue that “Shadow of a Doubt” is better classified as noir. Maybe. It's certainly a part of that tradition too. The grislier stuff is always kept off-screen. However, any movie that mines as much of a sense of unease and tension from the premise of having a murderer in your midst as this one resides comfortably within the macabre to me. (And this is a Universal Picture too, begging the question of whether I can bullshit Uncle Charlie onto my list of Universal Monsters.) As for Hitchcock himself considering this his personal fave, well, I don't know if I could put it above some of the master's other great films in my own ranking. However, it is a fantastic film, skillfully acted, beautifully shot, tensely assembled, and rich and evocative with deeper ideas. [9/10]

Taxidermia (2006)

I've noted before that, after a certain point, it becomes tricky to tell if a movie was made with Troma or Criterion in mind as their ideal distributors. Lars Van Tier and Pier Paolo Pasolini movies have penises and bodily excretions flopping around on-screen but they're considered serious artists, status-quo challenging provocateurs. Tom Six and Srdjan Spasojevic do much the same and they are hacks only interested in shock value, whose films are made strictly for the strongest stomach-ed of Fangoria subscribers and nobody less depraved. It is not as if the high or low ends of the brow have an exclusive right to pretensions either, as insisting your video montage of dongs and dookie has some deeper meaning is a justification utilized by both schlock slinger and artsy-fartsy types. Perhaps a cinematic depiction of a ding-a-ling or poo poo is itself a neutral act, the execution determining the value of what's on-screen. Which brings me to tonight's stop on the Horror Around the World 2025 journey: “Taxidermia,” György Pálfi collection of penis jokes, puke, and body horror that was submitted as Hungary's official selection for Best International Picture at the Oscars and is described on Wikipedia as satirical, surrealist, and “a metaphorical socio-political retelling of Hungary's history.” 

“Taxidermia” follows one family through three generations. At a frozen outpost in the middle of World War II, Morosgoványi Vendel is forced to perform humiliating task for his commanding officer. Working next to a bath house, he grows increasingly sexually frustrated and desperate to find a way to relieve his urge. His off-spring, Balatony Kálmán, grows up to become a competitive speed-eater in the Soviet era. He pushes his ability to binge and purge as far as possible for the glory of his nation. At the same time, he shares a rivalry with a fellow speed-eater for both contest titles and the love of the same woman. Decades later, Kálmán has become so morbidly obsessed as to be immobile. He lives with his adult son, Lajoska, out of the back of his taxidermy shop. His father, obsessed with raising the world's heaviest house cat, belittles his son and fixates on his past glories. A horrible accident leads Lajoska to build an elaborate device to help him fulfill his grisly destiny. 

“Taxidermia” is book-ended by an art collector presenting his purchases in an exhibit. This establishes, early on, that the film's images clearly mean something. If any one idea reoccurs throughout “Taxidermia's” segments, it is consumption. In World War II, the protagonist is forced by the military system to degrade himself. His thoughts remain on sex and food, the butchering of animals being a reoccurring feature. During the sixties,  Kálmán and his wife – also a competitive eater – are seen shoveling pork and beans into their mouths out of red star shaped trough. The act of eating itself has become part of the national propaganda machine. In the final third, bodies are hollowed out, put on display, and sold as a product. Presumably because Hungary is now a capitalistic nation in a post-Soviet age? While Pálfi's film is clearly reflecting specifically Hungarian thoughts and feelings, its themes are also universal. We are all at the mercy of elaborate systems of control, all of us subjected to having our substance ground into more feed for this machine we call society.

The method Pálfi mostly uses to convey these ideas is grossing the audience out. Within its opening minutes, “Taxidermia” is depicting a man seemingly lighting his own flatulence on fire. The second episode is absolutely filled to the brim with vomit. We are talking multiple scenes in which people gorged themselves to the point of sickness before puking their guts out over and over again. Such unpleasant moments are often depicted with a clinical, unflinching eye. Such as when  Kálmán induces vomiting with a rotating wheel device. The film brings the same approach to its violence. The climatic disemboweling plays out in intimate close-ups of sliced sinew and unspooling intestines, backed up with no music and slowly displayed. As much as the film is enamored with the body's insides coming out, it's main method of repulsion revolves around simply putting obese people on-screen. “Taxidermia” really fucking hates fat people. A heavy-set, elderly woman's body is shown in the nude as a sick joke. The entire middle sequence relishes in flabby folks consuming millions of calories in short spans of time. That anyone would be attracted to bodies that look like this is repeatedly a punchline. The last part features a character so overwhelmingly rotund that he ceases to be human, becoming a Jabba the Hutt-like monstrosity in both appearance and behavior.

I am sure, if pressed on this depiction of large individuals, the makers of “Taxidermia” would insist it was all with a specific purpose in mind. That the clear and evident disgust with overweight bodies that pulsates from nearly the entire movie is about showing the excess of the state or the dehumanization of the self. In execution, however, it amounts to scene after scene of fatty fat-asses being fatly fat. The camera makes sure that the slop they consume is extra sloppy, to better convey its revulsion at these images. I'm not one to throw around terms like “fatphobic” but there's no other way to describe “Taxidermia.” It's a symptom of the movie's biggest problem: A commitment to being grotesque but without any comedic zing or light-sense of absurdity. The first episode almost recognizes an actual human emotion with its hero's sexual frustration, so blue-balled he can't even fuck a hole in the wall in peace. However, that gives way to a suffocating vomitorium – literally – of on-screen nastiness and heavier pretensions. “Taxidermia” is full of gross shit and all of it oh so clearly means something. But at what point does torrents of puke and mounds of latex flab become less symbolic and more self-indulgent? Very quickly, if you ask me.

“Taxidermia” is a technically impressive film. Its cinematography has that sterile artistry to it that seems unavoidable in European genre cinema sometimes. Naturally, the color pallet is mostly icy blues and sickly greens. The make-up effects are exactly as detailed and disgusting as they are intended to be. The climatic sequence, the primary reason for the title and poster, is creatively horrific. At the same time, a motion picture trying so hard to make the viewer queasy, while constantly hitting you over the head with its own metaphorical weight, quickly becomes tedious. If a movie is going to try and make me gag, at least be honest about it. Put gross shit in a movie because it's gross and you want to gross us out. Don't create a ninety minute monologue about how revolting you find fat people before claiming it's actually symbolic, maaaaan. In other words, “Taxidermia” is a film undeniably high on the aroma of its own farts, absolutely compelled by how stomach-churningly foul it can be while rhapsodizing endlessly about the nuances and textures of the pungent scent. I'm good, thanks but no thanks. [5/10]

 

 

Alfred Hitchcock Presents (1986): Beast in View

The only time I think people bring up the eighties revival of “Alfred Hitchcock Presents” is to discuss the couple of episodes directed by notable names. “Beast in View” is not one of those episodes. It was directed by Michael Toshiyuki Uno, who had a mostly undistinguished career of made-for-TV movies. (Though “The Wash,” a rare starring role for Mako, sounds kind of interesting.) But let's give it a try anyway, shall we? The episode concerns Dr. Morgan McGregor, a pop psychologist with a call-in radio show and best-selling books. She has recently married long time boyfriend, Roger. Their honeymoon is disturbed when Roger discovers that Morgan is receiving threatening phone calls. The calls are from a deranged man who promises to kill Morgan for her crime of marrying another man. When pressed, she admits that the calls are from her ex-husband.... Who is dead. Despite that, the stalking and harassment intensifies. When she's attacked in her home, her husband investigates and discovers a startling truth.

Like most of the USA Network's “Alfred Hitchcock Presents” installments, “Beast in View” is a remake of an episode from the original series. In this case, one from the longer “Alfred Hitchcock Hour” season. Both versions are adapted from a novel by Margaret Miller. If adapting a whole novel in a thirty minute program sounds like a tall order, it clearly is. “Beast in View” barely has time to establish Morgan and Roger's relationship before introducing the threat of her stalker. Within a few scenes, she's already been pursued by a strange man at her book-signing. Normally, this would be the half-way point of the story, when the danger has escalated from theoretical to a physical. Instead, the episode heads right into the climax. Maybe that would be less of a problem if “Beast in View” didn't also have a crazy twist ending. One of those wild swerves that barely makes any sense and feels all the more abrupt when shoved in the final seconds of a rushed adaptation such as this.

That “Beast in View” feels unavoidably rushed and abbreviated is disappointing. Otherwise, this is an effective thriller. The cinematography is excellent, establishing a sense of being watched early on. The sequence where Morgan is stalked through her home by the unseen assailant, after ominous footsteps enter, is quite suspenseful. Knowing this script was based on a book by a woman makes it a clear reflection on gendered violence. The cops – special guest star Tom Atkins! – flat-out admits there's nothing they can do to stop the phone calls. The husband starts carrying a pistol, being told that's the best security one can buy. As in real life, having a gun around doesn't actually make anyone safer but instead contributes to the violence. Most of this interesting idea is tossed out in favor of that silly twist, which I'm guessing had more nuance on the page. Still, this is a solid half-hour, with decent lead performances from Janet Eiber and Cliff Potts. [7/10]

The Addams Family: Lurch's Little Helper
 

Here is an episode of “The Addams Family” with a very special guest! “Lurch's Little Helper” begins with Gomez in another spirited round of cultural appropriation, playing samurai with Lurch. This comes around the same time as several other demands on the butler. Morticia begins to worry that they are putting too much pressure on the family butler. Rather than hire more help, Gomez' solution is to build Lurch an assistant. After a day in the basement with Fester, the duo has cooked up a robot named Smiley to help Lurch out. Lurch is told to take it easy for once, which confuses the butler at first. Soon, however, he is delegating all his work to Smiley the robot. The machine is not as talented, however, and the family starts to notice. They cook up a scheme to prove to Lurch how much they need him, by passive-agressively praising the robot and making the butler feel unloved. 

The sixties was a different time, in many ways. This was especially true of television. In today's cynical, thoroughly self-aware world, pro-wrestling and the Muppets remain the sole domains of kayfabe. It is probably best that performers receive the proper credit and all that. At the same time, isn't the world a little more whimsical when we treat a robot like it's an actual actor? “Lurch's Little Helper” was part of a run of special guest appearances across multiple TV shows for Robby the Robot, “Forbidden Planet's” break-out mechanical star. This was after Robby appeared on “The Gale Storm Show,” “The Thin Man,” and in three episodes of “The Twilight Zone.” 1966 was a busy year for the machine, as he also had a memorable guest spot on “Lost in Space” around the same time. Despite his fame, “Smiley” is credited as “himself.” Perhaps this is because Robby notably does not speak with Marin Miller's distinctive voice. 

Now, what about the episode itself? There are some ups and downs here. Ted Kennedy gets some amusing moments to himself, when Lurch is feeling suddenly self-conscious about his lack of activities around the house. As delightful as Robby the Robot's mere presence is, “Lurch's Little Helper' does get into a repetitive pattern too quickly. Someone in the family will ask the butler to do something. He'll then summon the machine to do it for him, the robot doing a less subtle and more painful job. This continues until the show returns to another premise it has been revisiting far too often. Namely, the family feeling the need to trick somebody into behaving a certain way, instead of simply talking it out. Ya know, actually watching this show made me realize that the original Addams Family were a little dysfunctional? That aside, I did laugh a few times, mostly at the silly little side gags. Such as Gomez and Thing playing tug-of-war or an unexpected sing-along session. Also was it just me or did Jackie Coogan sound a little hoarse here? Did Uncle Fester have a cold? [6/10]

Halloween 2025: September 3rd

 

Death of a Unicorn (2025)

Long ago, longer now than it seems, "Cabin in the Woods" featured a murderous unicorn. It was a great gag but did make one wonder: Can the unicorn be a movie monster? The modern conception – a majestic white horse with a single golden horn – is most associated with little girls, the queer community, and anything colorful, graceful, and pure-of-heart. This represents a flattening of the weirder creature found in classical mythology. One-horned ungulates first appeared on pottery from the Indus Valley around 2000 BC. In 70 AD, Pliny the Elder included the "monoceros" among the wildlife of India. This was an animal with the body of a horse, the head of a stag, the feet of an elephant, a boar's tail, and a long black horn emerging from its forehead. Descriptions of unicorns as fearsome, uncatchable beasts that healed the sick and purified water with its horn were common by medieval times. Something closer to the modern version emerges then, usually depicted as a white horse or goat with cloven hooves, a long tail, a beard, and a narwhal tusk growing from its skull. Stories and tapestries depicted the unicorn as an untamable, violent beast whose wild heart could only be soothed by a virginal maiden. This narrative – the fearsome unicorn pursued by man in his greed, captured by the fair lady, killed and then miraculously revived – proliferated as a parable for Christ's crucifixion, resurrection, and bond with the Holy Virgin. The latter most story inspired filmmaker Alex Scharfman to write "Death of a Unicorn." It was A24's quirkier horror project earlier this year and, despite some soft reviews, I wanted to catch up with it.

Widower lawyer Elliot Kinter and his teenage daughter, Ridley, drive through a mountainous nature preserve on the way to the estate of Odell Leopold. The CEO of a powerful pharmaceutical company, Odell has secluded himself in his villa – with his wife Belinda and idiot son Shep – as he dies of cancer. Elliot has been summoned to sort out Odell's affairs. On the drive-up, he strikes an animal with his car. It looks a lot like a white horse with a single golden horn. Both Elliot and Ridley get splattered with the creature's blue blood. Only after the animal has to be killed by Leopold's head of security do Elliot and Ridley noticed that their ailments – her acme, his nearsightedness – have been healed. Realizing what they have, Odell injects the blood and regains his health. The Leopolds immediately go about trying to turn this miracle cure into their next million dollar drug. Ridley, who grasped the animal's horn and received a vision, believes it is a mythological unicorn... And that the medieval legends of the creature are far more dangerous than those around her realize. It's not long before the parents of the young unicorn, vicious and determined, come to retrieve the corpse of their off-spring. 

“Death of a Unicorn” is faithful to the medieval morality tales it invokes. It is an updating of what you might call a fairy tale, in the Grimm Brothers' sense. This is a story where the wicked are punished and the virtuous prevail. Setting such a story among pharmaceutical company CEOs led to some complaints that the film is ham-fisted. Maybe but those that seek to profit off the sick and dying, bleeding them dry with criminally high prices, while patting themselves on the back for “helping the world” deserve all the comical scorn they can get. Leopold is a cartoonishly evil capitalist. His son is a moronic spoiled brat, with no actual talents aside from a prodigious hunger for drugs. His wife whitewashes her reputation at the right hand of evil through a charitable foundation. They abuse and ignore Griff, a faithful family servant. The doctors and scientists have moral concerns but always kowtow to their corporate overlords.They all get what's coming to them before “Death of a Unicorn” is over. You can definitely argue that some of Scharfman's gags are a little too broad. Shep's fondness for mind-altering substances results in bigger and crazier jokes that might be a little too goofy. However, for the most part, I enjoyed the cultural satire at work here. If the last decade has taught us nothing else, it's that the avarice and conceited stupidity of the billionaire ruling class is beyond parody. 

Scharfman is not subtle about his influence. He includes repeated shout-outs to “Aliens,” in the teenage daughter's name and multiple sequence of hunters being tracked by their prey. Spielberg was obviously on his mind as well, “Death of a Unicorn” recalling “Jurassic Park” more the longer it goes on. In fact, the movie strikes me as rather Amblin-esque. The opening shot of the film is of Ridley falling asleep on her dad's shoulders, which he moves away from in pursuit of a contract on the floor. Throughout the film, Elliot references how much money he can earn from this deal, in order to provide a future for his daughter. Like Peter Pan in “Hook,” and the workaholic parents in a dozen other family flicks, Elliot is fixated on money and his job. He uses this as a placeholder for the obvious emotional chasm between him and his daughter, as a way to avoid grappling with the grief of his wife's death. Naturally, through the events of the film, Elliot will reconnect with his daughter. I think the script takes it too easy on the dad, who is often far more emotionally clueless than any parent should be and far too complacent in other blatantly evil acts. However, if you can buy into the gulf between father and daughter here, the emotional arc of “Death of a Unicorn” is surprisingly heartfelt and sincere. 

As someone obviously way too invested in folklore, I found myself hoping “Death of a Unicorn” would lean into the weirder medieval conceptions of its titular beast. I'm happy to report that the unicorns here have the whipping tails and billy goat beards, with the welcomed addition of serrated fangs. The script does not stray far from the mythological roots. The cycle of death and  resurrection, and the creatures' irresistible connection to a virgin maiden, are well represented. Perhaps the film can be criticized for merely doing the stuff it's already told us its going to do. Sure. At the same time, a lot of fun is had contrasting the modern idea of unicorns as magical friends to all children and their wilder roots. There's quite a lot of impalings with those single horns, the script repeatedly finding clever new ways to have the creatures gorily execute the film's villains. That includes some disemboweling and head-crushing too. If you can't have fun with that stuff, I guess you and I simply have different ideas of what's entertaining.

It also helps that “Death of a Unicorn” has a stacked cast. This is one of those films that fills its ranks with beloved character actors and stars and allows them to play totally to type. Richard E, Grant is hilariously despicable as Leopold, digging into much of his dialogue with the kind of vigor he excels at. Will Poulter plays Shep as a bumbling golden child and manages to wring repeated laughs out of the selfish behavior and dopey dialogue he's given. Anthony Carrigan is often hilarious as Griff, the most put-upon of put-upon butlers in recent memory. Jenna Ortega plays another alienated teenager struggling to connect emotionally with their parent. It's a role she's quickly getting typecast in but she does go through the beats nicely. Paul Rudd enters the film looking like the Angry Video Game Nerd.and probably gives the silliest performance, with a few too many obvious quirks for the character to register as a real person. Still, Rudd has an affable screen presence that eventually wins you over. 

Larry Fong, Zack Snyder's go-to cinematographer, creates some lovely visuals. The sweeping mountain setting and meticulously designed sets are beautifully photographed. The film gets a surprising amount of mileage out of unicorns running through the mist, blinding lights, and infrared shots. This is tied with some psychedelic colors and dreamscapes. Some of the CGI isn't flawless but I do enjoy the practical monster unicorn effects we get throughout. “Death of a Unicorn's” satire is definitely, probably too on-the-nose and it can't make every emotional beat of its story hit exactly right. However, it's also an enjoyable horror/comedy that makes a creditable threat out of long-since neutered mythological concept. Considering Piney's “monoceros” was certainly describing a rhinoceros, this is a idea I'm surprised nobody had really done before. Maybe I'm simply too much of a folklore nerd and a sloppy monster kid at heart to resist whatever charms this one had. I'm fine with that. [7/10]

The Phantom Creeps (1939)

Between 1914 and 1964, Universal Pictures would make 146 serials. Basically the Netflix shows of their era, designed to get people to come back to the theater every week, these cinematic series have been forgotten by all but the most devoted of classic movie nerds. However, at least one of these serials has had an odder legacy. Unsurprisingly, there was some crossover between Universal's serials and their horror movies. 1939's “The Phantom Creeps” would star Bela Lugosi, giving this one a little bit of a cult following. It also fell into the public domain, surely being broadcast on many creature feature shows in the sixties and seventies. That's probably how the young Mr. Robert Zombie first saw it and why he gave the serial's distinctive robot menace a key role in his “Dragula” music video. The machine went on to become something of a mascot of Zombie's, extending “The Phantom Creeps'” legacy – or at least the legacy of that ugly-ass robot – a lot further than it otherwise would've gone. Some have even gone so far as to consider “Dr. Zorka's Iron Man” a Universal Monster. That means I had to watch it! 

“The Phantom Creeps” exists in two forms: The original serial, totaling four hours and twenty-five minutes, and a 78 minute feature cut, assembled for TV broadcast in 1949. I watched both, naturally. Either version follows the same story: Mad scientist Dr. Zorka has discovered a new element from a meteor. He's fashioned an array of fantastical weapons from it: A belt that grants invisibility, that eight foot tall robot, a gas that induces a death-like state, little robot spiders attracted to radioactive disks, and a laser gun called a Z-Ray. After he inadvertently kills his wife and fakes his own death, Zorka promises to unleash his vengeance on the world. (With the help of Monk, his incompetent and cowardly henchman.) Government man Captain West, hot-shot reporter Jean Drew, and former colleague Dr. Mallory try to stop Zorka's plan. Meanwhile, spies for an enemy nation seek the element for their own purposes.

My exposure to old time movie serials has, admittedly, been limited. However, I've certainly read plenty about the cliches of the format. “The Phantom Creeps” does nothing to dispel these pre-conceived notions. The serial sacrifices pacing, ambiance, and often coherence in favor of constant action. Nearly every episode features a car chase or a shoot-out. There are multiple plane crashes across the twelve parts and a speed boat crash too. The plot essentially sees Zorka's mysterious element trading hands between himself, the heroes, and the spies. “The Phantom Creeps” repeats this pattern over and over again across its twelve installments. Sometimes, the element is swapped between the different parties multiple times within the same episode. Such as in the improbable plot turn of Zorka renting an apartment right above the secret hide-out of the spy ring. Shit like that reminds you that these serials were basically made for kids, an audience that could accept unlikely developments like Zorka discovering a hitchhiker that looks just like him or pulling a number of amazing inventions out of this one magic rock.

Of all the contrivances of the classic serials, none is more notorious than the cliffhangers. Each chapter must end with the heroes having fallen into a seemingly inescapable sort of peril. “The Phantom Creeps” deserves points for creativity. The good guys are left in planes and cars and even a boat that crash and burns. Zorka also derails a train they're riding on, pulls electric wires down onto their heads, throttles Captain Bob with his killer robot, and tricks them into crossing a bridge about to be dynamited. No matter how fatal each of these events may appear, the heroes emerge unharmed at the start of the next chapter. Getting out of the cockadoodie car is one thing. The characters emerging unharmed from the fiery wreckage of a train wreck or simply driving through the explosive hazards is harder to swallow. This pattern is designed to keep viewers coming back next week. To modern eyes, it makes “The Phantom Creeps” seem utterly devoid of tension. No matter how elaborate the danger, no one will actually be hurt.

When you combine that with the repetitive plot, “The Phantom Creeps” quickly becomes a tedious experience. When contrivances like the G-men driving by the spies on the same road occur, leading to yet another car chase, you feel exhausted. Moreover, constantly going right up to something truly crucial happening only to pull back makes the series feel like a perpetual tease. Whenever you feel like that murderous robot is finally going to do something, the story goes back into a holding pattern. Any time the plot threatens to get truly exciting, the story returns back to the mundane settings of Zorka's lair or Dr. Mallory's suburban home. Most of the characters are men in suits and fedoras, often making it difficult to keep track of which group has the MacGuffin at any given time. I often forgot whether I was watching Captain Bob or his sidekick or the gang of foreign agents. The characters that are memorable are rendered less likable by their repeatedly foolish actions. Monk attempts to betray or dessert Zorka multiple times but the mad scientist never disposes or fires his cowardly henchman. Or the spies seem happy to let the Lois Lane-ian heroine go at one point. It's hard to be too invested in what happens when the characters are this dumb and indistinct.

At the same time, I am tempted to forgive “The Phantom Creeps” for its dumber, more tedious trespasses. It should go without saying that Bela hams it up to glorious heights as Dr. Zorka. Honestly, his expression when being exposed to his own gas, threatening Monk with bodily harm, or being shocked when he accidentally derails a whole train brought me more entertainment than anything else across these four hours. I was also repeatedly amused by Monk's ability to absorb multiple gunshot wounds without any consequences. Fast-talking, adventurous lady reporters almost always win me over and Dorothy Arnold plays that role nicely here. Once “The Phantom Creeps” finally stops fucking around in its final part, its constant action is finally given some weight. The perpetually scowling Iron Man takes on a small army and goes up in spectacular fashion. Bela unleashes his wrath via bombs dropped from a bi-plane, resulting in a lot of stock footage from the crash of the Hiddenburg and World War II combat. That chaotic final act is deliriously violent enough almost to make up for the extremely stupid way our villain is undone.

Ultimately, “The Phantom Creeps” has limited charms. Bela is giving it his all. Watching him lurk around a cobweb strewn lab, make himself invisible, or brood over bubbling chemicals isn't without its value. Edward Von Sloan plays the leader of the spy ring. There's some novelty in seeing him as a bad guy, despite the disappointing lack of interaction he has with Lugosi. Honestly, Rob Zombie definitely stole the most memorable element from this serial. That towering robot, with its perpetually scowling face and stiffly moving arms, is amusingly goofy. The serial repeatedly trying to turn such an awkward, comical creature into a creditable threat results in some chuckles. The full length serial quickly becomes a slog to get through. The abbreviated version operates more like a best-of reel than a coherent narrative, though it is slightly more digestible. Will I continue to hold onto the Blu-Ray simply to say my Universal Monsters collection is as comprehensive as possible? Obviously the answer is yes. [5/10]

 

 

Alfred Hitchcock Presents: The Glass Eye
 

Far back within the reaches of human history, a person realized they could make it seem like their voice was coming from a source other than their own throats. This skill was originally used during religious ceremonies. At some point, somebody fashioned a piece of wood into a crude representation of the human form and, using the same talent, made it appear like this facsimile was alive and talking with its own voice. Presumably five minutes after that, somebody else realized this was all kind of weird. And so the proud narrative tradition of creepy ventriloquist dummies emerged. In 1944, John Keir Cross published the short story "The Glass Eye" and its fine and unsettling twist ending surely caught the attention of Alfred Hitchcock and his team. He would host an adaptation of the tale – with Robert Stevens directing – as the premiere episode of the third season of "Alfred Hitchcock Presents."

An unusually subdued William Shatner appears as our narrator, cleaning out the belongings of his late spinster sister, Julia. Upon discovering a glass eye, he relates the tale behind it: On one of the rare occasions where she ventured out into the world, Julia took her bratty nephew to a show. There, the famous ventriloquist Max Collodi and his dummy George performed. Julia immediately became infatuated with Collodi, quitting her job to follow his performances around the country. She wrote to him obsessively, requesting a meeting, and included a photograph of herself when she was younger. After many rejections, Collodi finally agreed to see her, in a darkened room and only for five minutes. This preceded a horrifying discovery. 

Most stories of devious dummies and malevolent marionettes usually go the route of the puppet being imbued with life through supernatural means or representing the fractured psyche of the ventriloquist. "The Glass Eye" goes a slightly different route, its shock ending nevertheless probably being easily guessed by most savvy modern viewers the minute they get a look at "George." (Or notice a specific name in the credits.) Either way, Stevens' direction and John L. Russell's moody cinematography keeps this captivating. The climatic meeting between Julia and the object of her desire plays out in a shadowy room, the sole source of light upon the ventriloquist's table. The reveal plays out like a nightmare come to life, conveying the odd circumstances strictly through tight close-ups and sudden emergencies. If nothing else, the episode does a good job of impressing on the viewer how psychologically devastating Julia finds these uncanny events. 

It leads up to a rather melancholy epilogue, the sadness of which Hitchcock's typically morbid quips in the host segments can't defuse. Creepy as it definitely is, "The Glass Eye" mostly strikes me as a deeply sad story of how self-loathing unavoidably goes hand-in-hand with the need for human contact. Jessica Tandy plays Julia as someone crippled by her fears of being judged by others. She considers herself an old, used-up woman that is unlovable to the world, despite Tandy being all of 47 at the time and hardly a crone. Still, she hopes for a partner to touch. She falls in love with Collodi from afar, seeing the handsome ventriloquist as an ideal figure she can reach out to. Despite her devotion, she still fears rejection by him and sends a younger photo. The bitterly ironic ending is that her celebrity crush isn't even real, that the true puppeteer is somebody else who clearly fears rejection and hides from the world as well, and that her need to hold and treasure undoes her own fantasies. You could apply a lot of these themes to our modern world of NEETs, "stan culture," and parasocial relationships. That proves that good writing is immortal and "The Glass Eye" remains potent to this day. [8/10]

The Addams Family: Morticia's Romance: Part 1

With the start of its second season, I suppose the writers decided it was time to flesh out the Addams Family's backstory a little bit. This necessitated the show's first two-part episode. On the night of Gomez and Morticia's thirteenth anniversary, the kids gather around for their parents to relate the story of how they met. At the age of 22, Gomez was a bachelor with no interest in women and perpetually congested sinuses. Grandmama, sick of her son being alone, conspired with her old schoolmate Hester Frump to arrange a marriage between their children. Ophelia Frump is happy to marry Gomez but he has no attraction to the super-strong, wide-eyed girl... Her twin sister Morticia, on the other hand, immediately captures his attention. The two fall in love quickly and wish to wed but don't know how to break this news to their mothers. Gomez consults Cousin Itt for advice on how to get out of this dilemma, the hairball suggesting a suicide pact. 

"Morticia's Romance" essentially operates as something of an origin story for the kooky, creepy brood. It clarifies that Grandmama is Gomez' mother and Itt is his cousin, while stating again that Fester is Morticia's uncle. It seems Lurch and Thing were already lurking around the house by this point. The episode has great fun re-introducing as many of the family's quirks as possible. It turns out Wednesday is the spitting image of her mother, who was also fond of pigtails, maxi-skirts, and decapitated dolls. The episode shows Gomez meeting Cleopatra – just a sprout at the time – and Kitty Kat, while Morticia stumbles upon Zelda the Vulture. The mention of Gomez' pet octopus or Itt and Fester appearing on-screen are clearly meant to be cheer-worthy moments too. While Morticia seems simply like a shyer version of herself at this age, Gomez is far more neurotic and antisocial. Save for his love of exploding toy trains, he doesn't develop into the passionate, boisterous, French-loving gentleman we know until Morticia lights his flame. Yeah, I can relate to that. Sometimes, it takes meeting your other half to give you the confidence needed to come out of your shell. 

The episode also expands the Addams Family a little bit. In what surely must have been the first big guest star the show went after once it became a success, Margaret Hamilton appears as Gomez' soon-to-be mother-in-law. Of course, the Wicked Witch of the West is Morticia Addams' mom. We also meet Ophelia, the twin sister also played by Carolyn Jones. (Resulting in the required shot of the two standing across from each other in a horizontal shot.) The idea that someone would be too eccentric for Gomez must've presented a challenge. The show resolves this by making Ophelia brightly dressed, enthusiastic about nearly everything, and gifted with a penchant for judo. You'd think his partner regularly beating him up – or shrilly playing a broken violin – would be right up Gomez' alley. I guess Morticia sparked his love of sadomasochism too. If nothing else, Jones clearly delights in a chance to play the opposite of the soft-spoken and reserved Morticia. 

There's some solid gags here too. A conversation between Gomez and Ophelia while she cleans the series of dishes she shattered leads to some amusing visual jokes. The same can be said of Fester's introduction. The extremely bleak joke the episode ends off on is another example of this show being edgier than I'd expected. I guess cracking wise about committing suicide was a lot more common in the sixties than I realized. Another example of this subversive streak is that Gomez gifts Morticia a lacy nightgown as an anniversary present. The two are clearly about to get up to some not-fit-for-prime-time activities when the kids barge in. Despite the separate beds, the fact that Gomez and Morticia Addams fuck can never be ignored. The only element of this episode that seems wrong to me is the reveal that these two have only been together for thirteen years, meeting when both were merely twenty-two. I guess I'm accustomed to the Addams as quasi-immortal beings, untouched by time, as suggested in the nineties film. Am I truly meant to believe that these two are younger in their prime than I am now and not ageless entities that have prospered for eons? Oh, also it's weird that this was the second episode of the second season when it was clearly meant to operate as the premiere. I guess they didn't want to open the sophomore year on a two-parter? [7/10]